You Would Cry Too
by Phoenix on cloud nine
Summary: "Dean, I'm not five anymore," he croaked, hastily trying to pull himself together. "I don't need to crawl into bed with you if I can't sleep." Set a bit after 'The Song Remains The Same'.


**Yeah, I should be getting back to my other fics, but this just popped into my head and won't leave me alone D: Ah well ;)  
Set just after 'The Song Remains The Same' (It's been a while since I've seen it, so if anything's a tad wrong, just…. ignore it lol)**

Dean rolled his head, trying to get the crick out of his neck. Whilst Castiel had been healing in their hotel room, Dean had made him take his bed, whilst he slept on the sofa. Sam tried a few times to swap places, but Dean insisted – the kid had just come back from the dead for Christ's sakes!

As well as that, Sam had been really quiet; more so than usual. And it wasn't the normal 'I just started the apocalypse' kind of quiet. It was more of an 'I just met my mother for what is technically the first time' kind of quiet. Dean had gotten over it more so than his silent brother – he'd already done the time warp once before to see his parents and although it had been weird and wonderful and sad to see them both again; he seemed to be dealing a lot better than Sam was.

It was the first night after Castiel took off. He'd quickly thanked the brothers for their hospitality and disappeared in a wink, obviously with work to do. Sam was sat at his laptop, scrolling down something avidly and had just shook his head when Dean suggested food.

"Dude, you gotta eat," Dean insisted, stood in the open doorway, his stomach growling impatiently. "You died." His voice shook just an inch but he was determined not to let Sam hear it.

His brother mumbled something back. "What?" Dean questioned. "I didn't catch that."

"I wish." Sam whispered.

Dean stared at him, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut. He closed the door softly and went back, sitting on the end of his bed and looking at the younger man who was sat at the table, and looking a bit shell-shocked himself, as if he couldn't believe he'd just said that.

"Sam…" Dean started, not sure what to say; instead settling for the always helpful, "what?"

Sam looked back up at him with tears in his eyes. "The whole world's going to Hell, Dean – literally. It's my fault. And both mom and dad dying was my fault too. If I hadn't been born, or maybe if I'd just stayed dead, then…"

"Don't you say that," Dean growled, grabbing his brother by the collar of his shirt, "don't you dare even _think _that – you got me? I kick-started the whole thing, remember? 'Just man in Hell' and all that jazz? You _ever _think you don't deserve to be here or whatever, get me to knock some sense into that thick head of yours. Mom and Dad dying wasn't your fault – you got that?" He shook Sam slightly, who tried to look down. "Sammy, look at me _right now_ and say it."

"I-it… It wasn't my fault…" He whispered, looking down again after a hesitant glance into his brother's eyes.

"Damn right," Dean nodded, and let go of the younger man, who was doing his best to make sure any tears in his eyes were gone by the time he looked up again. "Now, I'm starving, so you and I are going to get something to eat. Got it?"

Sam nodded and stood up, looking down at his hands, and barely noticed Dean grabbing his jacket and forcing it into them, telling him it was cold.

**

* * *

**Lying in bed that night, Sam's mind was flying a mile a minute. He couldn't get comfortable no matter what, but kept listening out for Dean's breathing, checking his brother was still asleep.

Had he meant what he'd said earlier that day? He wasn't altogether sure. He didn't want to be dead (But neither had Mom, Jess, Dad, Madison…) but he was pretty sure he still blamed himself for what happened. He knew Mom had made a deal; Dean had told him, but even then he couldn't really pull the guilt away from himself.

And she'd been so beautiful, he sighed, feeling tears come to his eyes. They'd been so happy, his parents. He tried to pull a memory of her up – even though he knew it was in vain. It just didn't seem fair. Why should Dean get the memories? He could remember being tucked in, sung to… What did Sam have? A father who quite often smelt of alcohol and had a scratchy beard when he kissed him goodnight – no songs for him.

He wished for a song now though. However old he was now, he still wanted that more than anything at that moment in time. Dean had told him that Mary sung 'Hey Jude' to him. He'd spent a few days listening to the song on the Internet, trying to think of how _she _would have sung it. But he couldn't. He was struggling to remember her voice.

He made a small sob and tears he hadn't realised were there were falling down his cheeks. He tried to push them away and allow sleep to come instead but he couldn't. A small sigh from the bed next to him told him Dean was awake. This startled him, as he had gotten quite good at hiding his crying at night. Or maybe he just thought he did – and Dean had always heard it.

Although his brother hadn't said anything yet, so maybe he was okay. If he could just be quiet, maybe Dean would think he'd imagined it all…

"Sammy?" Or maybe Dean could hear him quietly sobbing like a small child. Nice one, Sam.

"Sammy, do I have to make you come over here?" He could hear the concern, and although it sounded like a joke, he could also hear the deadly seriousness of the question.

"Dean, I'm not five anymore," he croaked, hastily trying to pull himself together. "I don't need to crawl into bed with you if I can't sleep."

"Hey, I'm just sayin', the offer's there," Dean told him, before asking with a serious voice, "What are you thinking about? If it's what we talked about…"

"No, it's not…" Sam corrected him wearily, still not being able to push his tears away. "I just… seeing Mom and Dad… I never – never got to really… What was Mom like?"

Dean's gut twisted. He'd never liked talking about her to anyone – even Sammy. But that wasn't fair. His brother had a right to know what his own mother was like.

"Well you've heard all of Dad's stories. And when we met her – you know how sweet and kind she was…" he tapered off, hearing a few more sniffs from the bed next to him. Sighing and heaving himself up, he said, "Dude, if you're not coming over, I guess I'll have to come over there, huh?"

He felt Sam twist away as he sat at the edge, but also felt him move up, pulling the duvet slightly so Dean had room. Smiling he got in properly, but propped himself up on the headboard, not really bothering pulling the duvet around himself until Sam threw it over him, muttering something about it being cold.

Dean slowly put out a hand, before finding Sam's head and started to rub his head, carefully teasing bits of hair through his fingers, happy when his brother made a small sound of content that didn't sound like a sob.

"You know, when I was small and couldn't sleep, Mom used to do this to me 'till I did." He informed Sam. He saw Sam giving a small, sad nod and shuffled a bit closer. He'd probably get a lot of digs about this little moment, but hey – he could just say it was a dream. There weren't any witnesses after all.

However, after a while it appeared having his awesome big brother sat next to him practically _stroking _him wasn't enough. Dean saw more tears falling down Sam's face, and he could almost _hear _the cogs whirring in his head.

"Sammy, just stop thinking for a while, alright? Just concentrate on sleep."

"Can't," the small voice muttered, "need to think about _something._"

Dean pulled a confused face and before he knew it he started softly singing – of course it was to himself; why would he sing to his 27 year old brother? His baby brother – and was astounded to see Sam; although firstly giving off a few more sobs slip off to sleep.

"_Hey Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song, and make it better… remember, to let her into your heart, then you can start, to make it better…"_

"I wish I knew her…" Sam mumbled – and god, didn't _that _cause a small tear in Dean's heart.

"I know, little brother," Dean whispered back, continuing to sing until Sam had completely slipped off to sleep, before falling asleep himself – only to wake up in the morning to find he and Sam were practically _curled _up together like they had when they were kids.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone though. Hey, Sam crawled into his bed if he remembered last night correctly.

**Dean always knows what Sam wants and needs ;) So, yeah… uh, review, please?**


End file.
